The best we can do
by tidbit22
Summary: The Curtis's world is struggling to get back to normal after so much loss. Everyone's dying just a little bit, trying to do the best they can.
1. Chapter 1

The mornings here are loud. Constant shelling has us ducking behind sandbags and hanging out in foxholes. Once in a while there's a scream to let us know that the shell found at least one target, someone yells that it's one of the FNGs (fucking new guys). Welcome to the Hill of Angels, our own little piece of hell.

"He got a girlfriend." Soda says, smiling. I scoff my approval. It's about time that kid get some action. "That's not all… he hot wired a car."

I don't even have to look any him to see the pride on Soda's face. I find it kinda funny in a way… Darry probably wasn't too happy about this, but Soda's beaming like it's his brother's greatest achievement. I'm kinda proud of the kid, to tell the truth. It was Soda and I that taught him how to do it.

"Damn, kid's turning out to be just like you." I looked at him this time, seeing the smile tell me he loves that fact. I notice the paper and pencil in Soda's hands. "You writing back already?"

Normally, we wait until after patrols to write back. It's about the only thing to do here other than listen to whatever radio station we can get and read some playboys.

"It's not that kind of letter." He finishes and tucks it into the front pocket of his shirt.

I get what he's saying, and it makes me angry. "You ain't going anywhere, and you're an asshole for thinking you need to write that." I would've called him a dumbass, but I haven't called him that in years. Not since he dropped out.

He shakes his head. "I don't care. I'm not walking into the Dead Marine Zone without saying goodbye."

We sit silently then, and I think back to when we first got here. We were scared, until we went out on Patrol. If that makes sense. There is a lot of enemy contact out here. Apparently, if you give two energetic hot heads guns, they'll probably enjoy themselves in some twisted way.

Soda's the marksman here, impressing everyone with his skill. Those hunting trips with his dad really paid off and. when it came time for basic, he flew right by everybody in rifle training. I know it's strange, but I think he was pretty proud of that. Sodapop Curtis, proud of his ability to kill in one shot.

My pride over here comes from my ability to pick up grenades and throw them back. There's something thrilling about grabbing a live grenade, and lobbing back at the people that threw it. Something exciting about the possibility of being blown up.

You get proud of some crazy shit over here.

* * *

After a while, the jungle starts to look the same. Every tree, leaf, and blade of grass all resemble each other. This freaking country has no variation in landscape. Maybe it's just because we've been back to the same places fifty times.

"We were on this trail last week." Soda mentions quietly. As I said, we keep coming back to places we've already taken.

"I swear to god if I'm fucking killed here…" I don't get to finish my sentence because machine gun fire opens up and I'm diving into the tall grass. It's not a lot of cover, but it's enough.

I raise my m-16 up and start shooting at anything in black that's moving. This shitty gun is no match for the Russian Ak's the NVA are shooting at me with. I fire off ten rounds before it jams, then I'm grabbing the gun off the closest dead Marine.

I'm running out of the grass when I see the bright orange, recognizing fire all to well. Funny, we burn them with Napalm, they burn us with flamethrowers. I'm not the only one running out, but people are dropping all around me. My head's spinning. Where's Soda?

Killing NVA is no longer my main concern. Not when I see the bodies and the absence of my best friend. Gunshots reverberate in my ears, a grenade goes of somewhere. It's too loud. Someone make it stop.

The is the first ambush they've done on us. Now I know what if feels like to be on the receiving end. Now I know what it's like to be unprepared and shot at.

I've found some cover behind a rock, clothing tightly to my M-16. Frantically looking around, I spot the side of Soda's helmet. Oklahoma kid is scribbled on it in his messy scrawl, and I almost smile.

He doesn't have cover, but he's firing back at the North Vietnamese. My gun propped on the rock, I hold down the trigger and let bullets fly. I watch a few of their troops drop, but see too many of ours following suit. I turn my head back to Soda in time to see his gun jam. In time to see him attempt to fix it. In time to see the bullet bury itself in his chest.

The world seems to slow as he hits the ground. I'm standing, trying to get to him. Vaguely aware that bullets are flying past me and I need to take cover again. But I can't leave him. I can't.

I take cover, against the voice telling me to run to Soda. I shoot more NVA while watching Soda press his hands against his chest. He's trying to get that damn letter, and then he's holding it up. I know he's trying to reach out to the nearest person, trying to get them to take his last words to his little brother.

The paper is stark white against a green landscape and I realize he's making himself more of a target. "Put you hand down. Put your hand idiot, put your hand down." I'm muttering, pleading.

I see my chance and I take it. A slight pause in the firing, allowing me to drag him behind this rock. The blood is seeping through his uniform and it's all over my hands. I can't stop shaking, trying to press my hands against his chest. I'm panicking. "You're gonna be fine."

He shakes his head, pushing that letter against my chest. "Take it. Please"

"Don't do this to me Soda." It's selfish, he has two brothers at home, but I don't want him to leave me. "Don't"

He can't answer me. He can't answer anyone ever again. I don't know how long I'm stuck there, sitting next to my best friends body, clutching his message for Ponyboy. Someone shows up in an APC and I'm getting pulled onto it. There's not room for another body, so they leave him and thirty three others.

Back at base I see Johnson get off another APC. He's one of the other guys in my platoon, so I make my way over. As soon as he sees me he hugs me. "Steve…"

"Johnson, where's everyone else." My voice is higher than I thought it would be.

He gestures to us. "This is what's left of the platoon so far… Where's Soda?"

The question is tentative, he already knows the answer. My C-rations make a reappearance as I lean over, hands on my knees. I left him. I left him.

It's when I stop puking that I notice the bloody hand prints on my pants. The blood on my uniform and hands. Sodapop's blood.

I'm at the nearest sink, scrubbing my hands raw.

* * *

I'm not in the base at Con Thien.

I'm not in Vietnam.

I'm in America.

I'm in Tulsa.

I'm in the Curtis's bathroom.

There is no blood on my hands.

I turn the sink off.

When I walk out of the bathroom, Ponyboy is sitting at the table with a glass of water in his hand. I have to stop and repeat the same things over to myself, he looks so much like Soda.

"Why're you up kid?"

He gives me a look. "I could ask you the same question."

"You first."

He rubs his face, embarrassed. "I had a nightmare."

For some reason, it doesn't feel awkward when I say. "So did I."

"I think about him too." Ponyboy pauses. "I miss him."

I swallow thickly. "I know. Me too."

We're silent for a moment before the sounds of small feet echo down the hallway. I don't know if Ponyboy sees it the same way I do, but that kid is most definitely Soda's son. The way he walks, even at two, a fast paced little shuffle. His hair is definitely Soda's, all curly and soft without the tubs of grease his father used.

"Patrick Curtis you should be in bed!" Ponyboy tries to stay stern, but his face breaks out into a smile. "Uncle Darry won't be happy if he catches you."

Maybe it's just me trying to hold on to my best friend, but I swear even his voice sounds like Soda's when he answers: "I woke up" with a little shrug, like it's no big deal.

He looks adorable in his little truck onesie, walking over to the two of us. I expect him to go over to Ponyboy, but he stops in front of me a climbs onto my lap. I ruffle his hair gently. "You doin' good?"

He nods, and I wrap my arms around him. Ponyboy smiles. "You're good with him."

"He's Soda's kid, I love him." Then my face suddenly goes white and I feel the bile rise in my throat. I promptly put Patrick down on the floor, making a b-line for the bathroom. I can hear Ponyboy walking Patrick back to bed.

"Is Uncle Steve ok?"

"Yeah buddy. He's fine. Let's get you to bed"

No. No I am not ok. I lean my head against the toilet seat, trying to catch my breath. I just held Soda's kid the way I held my M-16. I just held my dead best-friend's kid the way I held a gun.

I'm grateful when Ponyboy comes back, leaving a washcloth on the counter next to me. He closes the door as I vomit.


	2. Chapter 2

"What's the matter?" Annie lifts her head off of my chest, turning towards me.

My hand goes to her hair. "mmmmh, nothing. Absolutely nothing."

She doesn't believe me. Sitting up completely, she gives me an unamused look. "Don't do that. Talk to me."

I want to do anything but talk. Her Parents are out of town this weekend, for some reason trusting her to be by herself. Not that I'm complaining, I'm lying on my girlfriends bed with her lying on top of me. Apparently, I'm a comfortable pillow. But I'm ok with just lying here feeling her head against my chest, even if it's through my t-shirt. I love just running my hand through her hair, listening to her soft breathing. The best thing about Annie and I is that we don't need to talk to have fun. Ten minutes of silence can mean more to us than a thousand words. But she wants to talk, and my girl normally gets what she wants.

How she knows I'm upset is beyond me, but then again Annie can figure anything out when she puts her mind to it. It's a reason why I love her, why she's so amazing. But, in moments like these, it drives me crazy.

I want to talk to her. I want to be able to tell her what's bothering me. I so desperately want to.

* * *

No smoking in the house has always been a rule, though one not greatly enforced. After mom and dad died, we were free to smoke wherever out little heart desired. I had always thought it was because Darry didn't care about the rule, but now I realize he just didn't want to fight with me about another thing. Funny how age can make you smarter. Anyway, now that there's a two-year-old in the house, Darry's been enforcing that rule.

This is my 15th cigarette in three years. My first one was two weeks ago when I found Darry sitting on the porch, a smoke dangling from his mouth. More than half the guys at work had gotten the pink slip. He hadn't been fired, but his pay was cut and that was enough. Raising a toddler is expensive and they raised the property tax.

"Ponyboy! Dinner!" Darry doesn't need to yell, the door is open, but he does. It's just his way, and I get it now.

The table's only set for one, Patrick's highchair at the head next to me. I already know what's happening, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Patrick's already eating chicken and mashed potatoes, mine is sitting in front of me, Darry doesn't have a plate.

We're not allowed to talk about money at the table. That rule has stood since the dawn of time, but I broach the subject anyways. "Darry I could always pick up extra shifts."

I'm surprised when he doesn't shoot me down immediately. He just shakes his head. "You're already working in pretty much all your free time."

"Well, I've been doing well in school." I squirm a little when he glares at me. "I can afford to…"

His fist hitting the table echoes through the house, even breaking Patrick from his own invisible world. "No."

I drop it immediately, finishing the rest of my dinner without a word. I make sure I leave some, a few bites all I can offer my older brother. I know he'll be in the kitchen while I'm out watching Cartoons with Patrick. This is not the first time he's skipped out on a meal, but I'm making damn certain it's the last.

"Ponyboy, you want to come down to the strip?" Two-bit pops his head in the screen door, he looks like he's fresh outta work.

"Nah, I'm gonna chill with hot-rod here."

He nods, looking around for Darry. Maybe he wants to ask him out too. I know he spots my big brother at the kitchen table, and I know he knows what's happened.

The next morning we find a wad of cash on the table. We don't ask questions anymore, not expecting answers. Learning years ago that brothers look out for each other without wanting anything in return. The money, suspiciously, is half the amount of Two-bit's pay check. He knows more about this than I do. For months as a kid, he would leave my house with some money burning a whole through his pocket. Darrel Sr. threw him a lifeline and, not for the first time, Two-bit's gonna throw one out to Darrel Jr.

* * *

Then I look around this room and realize I can't tell her. This room, her room, full of posters and books. Painted to perfection, hiding cracks and dents in the walls. I think of this house, happily situated on the south side of town. The comfortable middle ground.

There's two cars in the garage, her parents could probably afford a third if they saved up long enough. I'm trying to figure out how much I could get for my piece of shit chevy, knowing that the money still won't help cover everything. Her parents are sitting on an airplane, visiting some relatives up in New York. The only way I'll be getting on an airplane at this point is with a military conscription.

I want to tell her, but I can't. She has never known what it's like to know why you can't ask for something. To hear about other kids getting all these things for Christmas, and having to content yourself with one gift or sometimes even nothing at all. She's never had someone go hungry so she can eat. Never been worried about loosing her house. Even though she hasn't grown up wealthy or privileged, she still wouldn't get what I told her.

"I can't." And it's the honest truth.

She stares at me with those eyes that seem to be capable of unravelling every mystery. Then I catch the sad smile and watch as she moves back to my chest. "Ok."

But she gets this. This class divide that'll separate us constantly. She gets that there are things about my life, my world, that she could never understand. She doesn't push, she leaves it alone. I can't help but smile. "I love you."

"I Love you too, Ponyboy." And for the next few hours, I can focus on us. For the next few hours, I'll let my worries fade. It can be us, and only us. At least for the next little while.


	3. Chapter 3

Nights like these, I wish the dishes would do themselves. Late nights, when I leave them to the last minute after dealing with everything. When toddlers are asleep and younger brothers are hanging out in their rooms. The dishes are an afterthought, something I catch on my way to bed. Cleaning plates and cups has become second nature now, along with raising kids. My thoughts endlessly wandering under the tap, often disappearing down the drain with the dirty water.

There are so many things going wrong at this point that sometimes I wonder what would happen if we just gave up. Steve is falling apart, drowning in an endless ocean in which the only life jacket he sees, is a needle in his arm. Not noticing the army of lifeboats just waiting to pick him up. Ponyboy's trying to talk me into letting him sell his car, claiming it's not a big deal. No matter how far down we fall, I'm not letting him get rid of it. I remember his face when Sodapop handed him the keys. Two-bit finally graduating, only to take a job as a bartender during a graveyard shift. Half of his salary is sitting in my kitchen cabinet, the other half goes to his mother and sister.

It's never been this bad. Not even right after mom and dad died. Not even right after Sodapop died. Now, I spend my night praying that I haven't hit rock bottom because if I have I've somehow sunk below it. Something has knocked the world off its axis, but I don't want to think about that tonight.

Tonight I'm getting in my bed and I'm going to sleep. I am not going to worry about anything, I am going to close my eyes and forget I exist. That's my plan, and it's a damn good one.

I've just closed the door to my room when I hear a scream. In all honesty, my first thought is Ponyboy. He's had a few nightmares since Soda died, but none of them have been that bad. Then I remember the presence of a toddler in the house. I make my way to Patrick's room, telling Ponyboy I've got it when I meet him in the hallway.

I was six when I decided the sound of a crying toddler was the worst sound in the world. (Granted, Soda didn't cry all that much but when he did, it was bad. Ponyboy seemed to be crying all the time but maybe that's because I spent a lot of my time looking after him.) I've decided it's ten times worse when it's this toddler. Listening to him cry breaks my heart.

"Hey, buddy. It was just a bad dream." I pick him up gently, bouncing him a little. "Just a nightmare buddy. You're ok."

He buries his face into my neck, clutching Sodapop's old teddy bear, as I try to calm him down. Rocking him back and forth, whispering small comforts in his ear. "You're ok buddy. I promise. It was just a bad dream. You're ok."

I try to sound calm but, in all honesty, I'm desperate. It's late, I'm tired and I have to get up early. If Patrick stays up too long he won't get a night of good sleep, then he'll be a pain in the ass for the entire day and it'll be Ponyboy stuck with the fallout.

After what seems like hours but, in reality, is only five minutes Patrick calms down. He stops sobbing and yawns, placing his thumb into his mouth. Tonight I really don't have the energy to pull it out and deal with the fit thrown afterwards. Besides, the kid is especially cute when he's sucking on his thumb.

"Alright, hot-rod." I smile. "let's get you back to bed."

"No." He whines, "With you. Please?"

The amount of times I've had a similar conversation with Sodapop is almost funny. From the ages of six to fourteen, I would wake up to my younger brother tugging on my arm begging to sleep with me. And, like now, I'd oblige him.

I wait until Patrick's asleep comfortably beside me before I even think about closing my eyes. Even then, no matter how tired I am, I can't sleep. My mind wanders, just like it did when I did the dishes.

What are we doing? I just can't help asking that. Looking at my nephew I can't help but wonder whether we're looking after him for his benefit or ours. Trying to fill the whole losing Soda left behind.

God knows he'd be better off with Social services. Be better off out with someone who could actually afford to look after him. He could live in a nice neighbourhood, maybe with lots of other kids. A park that wasn't involved in a murder, playground equipment that doesn't run the risk of infecting him with tetanus. He could have new toys, not just the hand me downs we've given him.

With my brothers, it had been easy. Well, easier. Sodapop was practically an adult, more or less able to look after himself. Ponyboy was at least a teenager, somewhat being able to think for himself. They didn't require 'round the clock watching.

The thought disappears as quickly as it came. I wouldn't give that boy up, letting him loose the last family he has left. I wouldn't, not even if God himself told me to. I wouldn't because I love him.

I tell myself these things, but they're not the truth. In reality, if things get any worse, I might have to.

* * *

**So, I realize that was pretty short and I apologize for that. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this anymore, so I might take a little break. If not, I'll just attempt to figure it out as I go along. Thanks for reading and Reviewing it means a whole lot!**


	4. Chapter 4

The radio's blaring, I can hear it from the driveway. Mick Jagger's telling the neighbourhood that it's alright, in fact, it's a gas. Maybe I can believe him.

I'm met with the sounds of giggling and Patrick's happy shrieks as I step inside. Two-bit, our current babysitter, is dancing around with him in his arms. And, even though it's way, way past his curfew, my mouth drops open, watching this tough greaser dance with a toddler.

I laugh. "What would Dallas say?"

Two-bit promptly puts Patrick down and glares at me. "Anyone here about this and you are as good as dead."

"Hears about what?" I smile, picking my nephew up. "Whoah, Two-bit, what did you feed him."

"Mac n' cheese," Patrick yells gleefully.

"Oh, Mac n' cheese, huh?" I tickle him as he shrieks. It's a sound that will never get old.

As I'm playfully wrestling my nephew, the phone lets's out a shrill scream. Two-bit goes to answer it, and his hello sounds more like he's saying yellow. I turn down the radio, lest the person that's calling be Darry. I can't hear what's going on the other line, but I smile when I hear Two-bit greet the called. "Hey, Evie, what's up?"

Evie has been a lifesaver ever since Sandy dropped Patrick off. She's always offering to babysit on short notice if Darry needs to pick up extra shifts at the warehouse. Honestly, she's been a huge help. Plus, Patrick loves spending time with her.

"Whoah, Evie, slow down. You haven't seen him?" Two-bit asks, looking worried.

I put Patrick down and quickly hand him one of his toy cars. Thankful that he's quietly playing, I make my way over to Two-bit so I can hear what's going on.

"Evie, hold on." He pulls the phone away from his ear and covers the receiver with his hand. "Steve's AWOL. Have you seen him?"

"Not in a few days." I'm worried, normally Steve'll call Evie to let her know when he'll be out. "This isn't good."

"I know." Two-bit turns back to the phone.

"Alright, Evie, you come here. Darry should be off in a few hours, Patrick needs to be in bed by then." He shakes his head. "Pony and I will go find Steve."

As soon as Evie pulls up and walks in, I grab my keys. "Let's go."

* * *

The only place we haven't checked is the one place we knew he'd be. The one place we didn't want to have to visit, not wanting to acknowledge that our friend has a problem.

We pull up to the house, solitary on the edge of the highway. This time, it's Jim Morrison belting out the music, and Unknown Soldier makes me ache.

If you were just driving past here, you never would've guessed it is filled with junkies and hippies. The house is normal looking, from the outside. The walls, a shield that hides it's warped, twisted rooms. Almost mirroring the people that continually use it as a hangout.

The smell of grass greets us as soon as we walk inside, as well as some Abbie Hoffman doppelgänger. He walks towards me as Two-bit walks away, looking to steal a smoke off the nearest person.

"Ponyboy Curtis is that you?" I haven't heard the voice for a long time, but I remember it.

I can't help but smile, "Randy Anderson. Long time, no see." Last time I saw him was a year ago, had a drink with him right before he graduated. It was a good night.

"How've you been doing, man?" He extends his hand, and I shake it. "I heard about your brother. I'm sorry."

I swallow thickly, "Thanks." I'm able to shut that part of me off though, able to continue talking to him without shutting down. "So what have you been doing?"

"Nothing much, man. You?" He grins.

"Nothing much." I'm about to ask him if he's seen Steve around-he'd know who he was even if he hadn't met him-when a group of guys call him over. He pats me on the shoulder as he walks by. "Nice seeing you, Curtis."

"Who was that?" I almost jump out of my skin at Two-bit's voice beside me. He's good at sneaking up on people.

I grin. "Mr. Super soc."

"No way!" two-bit's eyes almost bug out, "That's Randy?"

He doesn't look the same way he did a year ago. His hair's grown out, curlier than ever. He's ditched the expensive Madras t-shirt, opting to go through life without a shirt at all. His sandals look worn, almost to the point of falling off. It's weird to think that, that's Randy Anderson, but then a best friend's death can do weird things to people.

I watch as he sits down with his friends, lighting up another joint. I wish Steve was sitting with them, smoking weed and listening to the music. But he's not, and it only takes a once over of the room to figure that out.

"Cmon. Let's go get him." And Two-bit's making his way to the back of the house. Walking further into the purple haze of drugs and Jimmy Hendricks.

The house has a split dynamic. The front belongs to the hippies, peace talks and good music, making good use of the space. People trip on all kinds of stuff but, for the most part, they're good trips. Once you cross that unmarked dividing line, you've entered a whole new territory. The whole feeling shifts. Good vibes and fun times disappear, this side is full of dark memories and violent pasts. Some of the guys here are just junkies, a few of them old members of Brumly or Shepard's crew, most are veterans like Steve.

We find him in one of the bedrooms, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands. There's only one needle on the floor, which gives me hope. He hasn't overdosed. Yet.

"Steve." Two-bit crouches down beside him as I stand in the doorway, surveying the room. The mattress is stained with either blood or another weird substance. There's a blanket and what might be a pillow on the other side of the room, lying up against the wall. There's a spot in the corner where beer bottles create a glass carpet, about ten bottles of Budweiser. My only comfort is also my worst realization, Steve spent all three days in this room.

"I left him," Steve whispers, his voice shaking. "It's my fault. I left him. "

"Steve, c'mon man. We're gonna take you home." And as Two-bit tries to pull him up I catch sight of the tourniquet still wrapped around his arm. The small, bloody mark where the needle went in. We both realize that he isn't going to be much help with getting himself into the car.

The silence of the car is bugging me something awful, so I'm thanking Two-bit silently when he turns the radio dial. Then my stomach plummets as I listen to the song. The Velvet Underground. Heroin. How fitting.

Two-bit hostility shuts it off and we spend the rest of the car ride in silence, expect for Steves occasional comment. He's stuck in his own head and I wish he'd shut up. I don't want to keep hearing him blame himself.

"I'll drop you two off at the apartment," I tell Two-bit, keeping my eyes glued to the road. "You don't mind?"

"Nah. Keep Evie at your place though. She won't like seeing him like this." He's right.

Helping him get Steve out of the car is a process, but we manage. I watch them walk off passed the threshold before driving home.

I feel horrible for leaving Two-bit to deal with this shit-storm all alone. For sticking him with Steve. But I couldn't bring them back to the house. I couldn't really help him. And I don't think it's to the point where he needs to be checked in somewhere. And I guess that I just don't know. I just don't know anymore.

* * *

**Jumpin' Jack Flash by the Rolling Stones**

**Unknown Soldier by The doors**

**Reference**** to Purple Haze by Jimmy Hendricks**

**Heroin The Velvet Underground**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing**


	5. Chapter 5

She looked astonishingly beautiful in that blue dress, with her hair braided like it was. Not that she needed the dress or the makeup to look beautiful, I would've been content for her to dance with me in some jeans and one of my old t-shirts.

It was nice, just dancing with her in the gym. The way she wrapped her arms around me and held on tight. How she laughed when we finally left, I took her to the lot, and we looked at the stars. How perfect she felt just sitting in my arms. Now, helping her load the boxes into her dad's car, prom seems like it was a million years ago, despite the fact it was only a month ago.

"Hey, look what I just found." She comes out of the house, smiling. My favourite Rolling Stones t-shirt is sitting comfortably in her hands.

I laugh, I gave her that shirt months ago. We had gone swimming down at the lake, and she had soaked her white t-shirt through. I let her wear mine, and I hadn't seen it since.

Her smile fades, and her tone his soft. She hands the shirt out to me. "You probably want it back."

"Nah." I shake my head. "It's yours"

I don't have the time to react before she launches herself at me. My arms go around her instantly. It makes sense. Her car is loaded up, and her parents are waiting in the front seat. It makes sense, but that doesn't mean I'll have to like it.

"I don't want to leave." She tells me, her voice muffled by my shoulder.

I stroke her hair. "Yes, you do."

She shakes her head and squeezes me tighter. All I can think about is how she's leaving once I let her go. She's leaving, and I'm letting her.

"I'm gonna miss you." She says, pulling back.

I push her hair behind her ears, smiling sadly. "I'll miss you too." I'm about to start crying, to tell the truth. I've never been good at saying goodbye, exacerbated by the fact that whenever I do, the person rarely comes back.

"Damn, I'm jealous." I laugh, trying my very hardest. "New York City."

Her voice is quiet. "It's a long ways away."

"Yeah. " I nod. "Be safe up there, ok? Not everyone is as nice as us Tulsans. "

She laughs a little. "Yeah, right." Then in all seriousness, she adds, "I'll be careful."

"And if your new boyfriend doesn't treat you right, call me up. I'll straighten him up with some of that East Side Justice." I force the words out with a smile and pull her in for another hug as she nods.

It seems like we're standing there forever, but eventually, she pulls away from me. "I love you."

I swallow thickly. "I love you too."

She turns and gets into her car without another word, and I'm thankful. I can't handle another goodbye. I wait before I see her car disappear down the street before climbing into my own.

* * *

He's only just recently bounced back from Annie leaving, and now he's leaving himself. The few boxes with his stuff are already sitting in the car, they've been ready in the living room the last few days. Patrick keeps asking what they're for, and it doesn't get any easier explaining it to him.

To make today harder than it already is, Patrick has a fever. He's lying on top of Ponyboy, who's lying on the couch. I'm watching them from the table. "His fever any better?"

He yawns, placing his hand against Patrick's forehead. "A little."

"You should get going soon." I take a sip of my coffee, glancing at the clock. "It's almost 8." It's an hour's drive out to Stillwater, and he wants to be there for around nine. I should probably be more forceful about this, but both of my "kids" look so comfortable on the couch together.

Where did the time go? I swear only yesterday Ponyboy was a spacey fourteen-year-old, sprawling on the couch and reading a book. Now he's seventeen and off to college today, with a toddler on his chest.

"Ok, I'll need you to get him if I'm going to get up." He smiles, tilting his head back to look at me.

I set my coffee mug down and go pick Patrick up off of my brother. Pony's right, his fever is down a little but it could still be better. I wake him up gently. "Hey, baby. Gotta get up."

Patrick lifts his head and rubs his eyes. "M', not a baby."

Ponyboy gets up and walks over to us, smiling. He reaches down and tickles our nephew. "You're our baby."

Patrick giggles but settles back against me.

Our porch is weathered, courtesy of so many years of storms and rowdy boys. I set Patrick down on our little outdoor sofa, he whines but settles pretty quickly. I don't want to put him down, but I really want to hug my brother goodbye.

Ponyboy looks completely different from when he was fourteen, it's like I'm not looking at the same kid. He's almost at my height and he's definitely taken Sodapop's title of best looking Curtis boy.

"Well Darry, after five years of trying you finally did it." He smiles, extending his hand for me to shake. "You finally managed to get rid of me."

"You're an idiot." I laugh as I pull him into a hug. I don't know how he's able to joke about the year he felt unwanted and unloved, but he does it. Although, he's not the same kid anymore and I realize, he hasn't been for a while. I pull him closer and sigh. "Ponyboy Curtis, you grew up on me."

He pulls away, keeping a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you, Darry. Just… Thank you."

I nod, not trusting my voice. It's not like he's leaving forever, but Stillwater is an hour and half away. He'll be here on weekends, when he can. And he'll be here at thanksgiving, which is in two months. I know he'll be fine because it's just university, but the last time a brother walked away from me, I didn't get him back.

"Hey, buddy." Ponyboy picks Patrick up and rocks him a little. "I gotta go."

"School?"

Pony smiles. "Yeah, school. I'll be back here before you know it."

I know it's a lie and that by tonight my nephew will be screaming for his uncle, but it somehow makes me feel better.

"You be good for Uncle darry and promise me you'll eat something else other than Mac n' Cheese."

"I promise."

After getting his promise, Ponyboy holds Patrick tight. "I'll miss you, hot-rod."

"Miss you too."

My brother hands Patrick back to me and begins to walk towards his car. We had agreed that him driving up alone would be easier, not wanting to leave Patrick with a sitter for that long or risk having him make a scene on campus. The guys had already said their goodbyes the night before, a party at Cal's. So, this is really it.

"Ponyboy." He stops and turns around. "He'd be so, so proud of you."

I don't have to elaborate, my brother knows who I mean. Wherever Sodapop is, I'm sure it's hurting him to miss this.

Ponyboy doesn't say anything in acknowledgement, he just nods and smiles sadly. He knows that Soda would be jumping up and down for him right now.

I'll pull Patrick closer as my brother gets into his car and drives off. I barely even wait until the car's halfway down the street before going back inside. Ponyboy's going to be just fine.

* * *

**This is long overdue. I've had most of it written for a while, I just haven't been able to finish until now. Things have been super stressful lately and writing has somewhat lost its magic. Thanks so much for all the support. Especially now, it means a whole lot! **


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up to the cold of the metal bench pressing against my back, briefly wondering what in the world happened to my shirt. Then I remember the drugs and the fist, and it's no wonder my shirt is more rags than actual clothing.

I throw my arm behind my head, propping myself up against the bars. Looking calmly up at the ceiling, I think about how this is the only place I'm comfortable. There are no constant reminders of him. No pictures or memories, no siblings, or identical little boy. Nothing but empty walls, unshadowed by his ghost.

But even now, he somehow comes back to haunt me. Voice filter through my head as I remember the time we stole his dad's car. We both got hauled in and sat in here for four hours. I propped myself up the same way I'm doing now, and he sat on the bench across from me.

He talked with the officers, somehow being friendly with the people who stuck him in the cell he was itching to get out of. I can still remember him laughing at some dumb joke I told, something dirty and stupid. Then my memory turns sinister, and it's not his laughs I hear, but his frantic attempts to hand me a letter. I can still feel his blood on my hands, and the awfulness at being pulled away from him. No matter how much I want to forget, he'll never let me.

I can't lie on this bench anymore, it's breaking my back. Hopping up, I look around the empty station. Last night must have been slow, seeing as I'm the only one in here.

"You look like shit." The officer on duty slides a coffee cup through the bars. "Here."

I take the cup. "Thanks."

"How're you doing, Steve?" The fact that this officer knows my name startles me, but then I throw a glance at his nametag.

McCarthy was the one cop every kid on the East side respected. He was from the neighbourhood after all. He knew the score better than anyone, and he never openly judged you. Even Dallas respected him, and that is saying something.

McCarthy was the officer that kept you company when your parents couldn't be bothered to come bail you out. He would let shit slide, sometimes turning a blind eye to the more harmless crimes committed by Tulsa youth. He was the officer that somewhat managed to soften one of the harshest blows, dealt to three boys on a cold January night.

"I'm fine." Lying about this is easy now. It's always easy to say I'm ok, while I'm anything but.

If he sees through my words, he doesn't show it. Taking another quick sip of his coffee, he makes sure he meets my eyes. "I'm sorry about Sodapop."

All I can offer in response is a curt nod and a sip of the coffee. I can't think of him. I won't.

"You ready to get outta here?"

My eyebrows raise and he answers my silent question. "The guy you hit decided not to press charges, so you're free to go."

He uncloaks the door, and I walk out, rubbing my face. "When did he decide this?"

McCarthy shrugs. "Last night. Someone decided that a night in here might do you some good."

I thank him, grab the stuff that was taken from me, and walk out of the station.

* * *

"So you guys just left him there?"

I adjust my hold on the phone. "We weren't going to. I called Evie, but she practically kicked him out. He was still hopped up on something, so neither of us could bring him home. Darry made the call to leave him."

"How bad was it?" Ponyboy asks. "Why didn't the guy press charges?"

_Cal's is full tonight, sweaty loud people everywhere you look. They're not playing any music tonight, but I doubt we could even hear it if they were. I'm supposed to be working the bar tonight, but Cal's given me the night off. Tonight we're celebrating Darry's new promotion. _

_"So, why isn't your brother here tonight?" I take a sip of my beer, noting not just Pony's absence but Steve's as well. _

_"He couldn't come home this weekend." Darry shakes his head fondly. "Got some big paper he needs to hand in. For extra credit." _

_"Who the hell does extra credit work when they don't need it? Actually, that was stupid. The only person is Ponyboy Curtis." I feel a little bad for teasing him while he's not here, but Darry laughs. _

_Now Steve waltzes in, coming to sit next to us and ordering a beer. It's obvious to Darry and me that he's on something, and I'm not sure if mixing it with alcohol is such a good idea. _

_We chat for a little bit. Mostly about Darry's new job and the pay raise that comes with it. Some things are finally looking up for him after almost a year of hardship. Suddenly, Steve jumps up. "Who's up for a game of pool?" _

_"Sure." Darry and I walk over to the table and Steve starts the game. _

_I'm watching him and Darry play when someone walks up behind us. The guy bumps Steve and, before he can even apologise, Steve's fist is colliding with his face. _

_All of a sudden, the two are fighting on the floor and the cops are called. Steve's getting lead away in handcuffs and the other guy is trying to stop the bleeding from his nose. I watch the cop car drive down the street wondering how we managed this in less than twenty minutes. _

_"I am so so sorry sir." Darry's already in clean up mode, trying to get Steve out of another mess. _

_The guy looks like he's forty, but I might be wrong. It's hard to tell with the blood on his face. I'm fairly sure Steve broke his nose and his lip is definitely split. The guy's holding a cloth to his nose. "That boy a Vet?" _

_I nod. "Yes sir." _

_"I ain't gonna be pressing charges." The guy spits some blood. "I'll come down to the station and talk to the cops about it." _

_Darry and I exchange a glance, then look back at the guy. Darry extends his hand. "Thank you." _

_The guy shakes it, and I turn to watch him. "How did you know he's a veteran?" _

_"It's easy to tell if you've been there." He says, almost smiling at our confusion. "Korea. Fifty to fifty-two." _

There's an intense silence on the other end of the phone. "I don't know whether to be happy or upset. I mean, great that the other guy didn't press charges. But, Steve attacked a vet."

"Yeah, it's..." I can't even explain how I feel about the situation. "I haven't seen Darry that mad in a long time. There was a long rant on the way home, he put Patrick to bed, and then just sat on the porch silently."

"Was he yelling?"

"Not really. He just sounded weird."

I can hear Ponyboy shift the phone. "He wasn't mad. He's scared. Frankly, so am I. This isn't going to end well… Get him to call me later."

I rub my hand over my face, noticing that the kid I'm supposed to be watching is chewing on a block. I go to grab it. "Get that outta your mouth. I'll make you some Mac 'n cheese if you're that hungry."

Patrick here's mac 'n cheese as immediately spits the block out, smiling. "Mac and Cheese!"

Ponyboy laughs on the other end. "Make sure to actually watch him. He's got a weird love of chewing on things."

For some reason, the block is back in his mouth. I go to tug it out. "I 've noticed. Thanks."

I catch a glimpse of the truck pulling into the driveway. "I've got to go, Pony. They're back."

"Alright. Tell Darry I probably won't be coming home before winter break."

"Will do. See ya!" I hang up just as Darry and Steve walk through the door. Steve stretches, going to sit on the couch. Darry doesn't even bother saying hi, just drops right into the armchair. I'm glad they had it out in the car, Patrick doesn't need to hear them yelling at each other.

"Uncle Steve!" Patrick forgets about his blocks and runs over to his second favourite "Uncle."

Steve lifts the kid into his lap. "Hey Shorty."

Darry sits up straighter on the armchair. He leans his elbows on his knees and his mouth is set in a firm line. I notice that his eyes don't leave the toddler on Steve's lap. Not even when I start cooking the mac and cheese, making a mess of his kitchen.

I watch from the kitchen as Patrick talks Steve's ear off, mentioning things that have never even happened. I feel terrible for him, Steve isn't around as much as he used to be and I know how much Patrick loves seeing him. I have a feeling that Steve's absence is a result of a talk from Darry, and as much as I want to, I can't blame him for not letting Steve be around the kid.

"Oh, Ponyboy called." I turn to Darry after handing Patrick his Mac and Cheese. "He said he probably won't be coming home until Winter break."

"That sucks." Steve ruffles Patrick's hair.

"He wants you to call him back later."

"Ok. Thanks, Two-bit." He's talking to me, but his eyes never leave Steve and the toddler on his lap.

* * *

**This is so overdue. I'm so so sorry. I've got a set plan though now, so as long as life doesn't get in the way I should be updating regularly. Thanks so much for all the support so far. It's huge to me. **


	7. Chapter 7

The restaurant's loud atmosphere was a jarring push back into the real world from the silence of the library, where I had spent the last two days. The clink of coffee cups replaces the soft turning of pages, and I wonder whether I should retreat to my quiet corner surrounded by books. At least there I know what's waiting for me.

I sit down at one of the booths, the bright lights distracting me from the actual time. If this bus comes when it's supposed to, I'm gonna get home by nine. Cursing my car and the faulty engine, I pull out my book and prepare to pass some time.

I'm halfway into chapter six when a voice speaks overtop of me. "Hey, Ponyboy. Mind if I sit here?"

"Hey, Peggy." I look up from my book. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." She sits down, smiling.

The waitress comes over, asking for our order. I point towards Peggy, who orders first. "Latte please." When the waitress turns to me, I order a black coffee. Pulling out my wallet, I hand the waitress a ten, enough to cover our drinks.

Peggy grabs my wallet, her attention caught by the picture of a little boy. Her soft features get drawn into a slight panic. "Your kid?"

I nearly choke on my coffee. It's easy to make that mistake, and Patrick is as good as my kid now, but it's jarring to hear someone actually think that. "No, my nephew."

She relaxes a little, smiling at the picture. "What a cutie. He's Darry's kid?"

I shake my head. "My other brother's kid. Sodapop." I'm silently begging her not to bring up my brother's crazy name, or my brother in general. But, of course, she does.

"I didn't know you have another brother."

"I don't," I say. "not anymore."

"I'm sorry, Ponyboy." She knows exactly what I mean, and stops talking about my brother or Patrick. She hands back my wallet. "My brother's got six months left on his tour."

I look up, surprised. I didn't know she had a brother either.

"I know." She smiles sadly. "I don't talk about him very much either."

We're quiet for a bit, neither of us wanting to discuss the war that took our brothers away from us. I decide to take a chance and go to change the subject. "So, where's home for you?"

"Owasso." She takes a sip of her latte. "What about you? Muskogee?"

"Tulsa, born and bred." I shake my head, smiling. "My dad was from Muskogee though. You excited to be going home?"

"Totally. I miss my dog." She laughs, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "What about you?"

"I can't even describe how much I've been looking forward to this." It's true. For the last six weeks, I have been counting down the days until I can see my brother and my nephew. I just want to sleep in my own bed.

A bus pulls up outside and Peggy hops up. She passes me a napkin, and I wonder how I didn't see her writing on it. "Maybe we can see each other this summer?"

"Yeah." I smile. I watch her leave, then look back at the number in my hands. I haven't had a relationship with anyone over the past year, nothing serious. Some small part of me still wants to reconnect with Annie, rekindle our relationship over the summer when she'll be home too. But the bigger part of me knows that isn't happening. We'll just end up back where we were at the end of last summer. So instead of leaving the napkin on the table, I tuck it in my pocket, with the full intention to call.

I get up, leaving a tip on the table. The summer air is cooler than I thought it would be, and I pull Dal's jacket tighter. I'm thankful when the bus shows up ten minutes later.

* * *

_"The man was right, the colt .44 was a fake. It did not make sense. Perhaps the man was a speculator…" _I'm almost finished chapter four of my book when we pull into Tulsa's bus depot. I can't help but smile at the thought of seeing Patrick and Darry, and of getting off this bus.

To my dismay, it's not Darry standing there with Patrick on his shoulders, but Two-bit. My disappointment is short lived however, from the higher vantage point my nephew spots me immediately. "Uncle Pony!"

Two-bit sets him down, and Patrick darts in between people to make it to me. I drop my backpack, exchanging it for my nephew. "Hey Kiddo! I missed you!"

He throws his arms around my neck and his face jams into my shoulder. I squeeze him so tight I think I might be suffocating the kid. How did I ever think leaving was a good idea?

Two-bit picks up my bag and smiles. "As you can see, the little devil is really happy you're home."

"Two-bit, you know I love you." Now I'm sounding almost exhausted as I feel. Somehow, riding a bus takes the energy out of you. "But where the hell is my brother? I really, really just want to see him." I forget that there's little ears around, and wince as Patrick smiles at my swear.

"Steve showed up on something." Two-bit tells me as I pull out of the parking lot, happy to be in my brother's truck again. "Came by the house earlier today. Darry's reading him the riot act."

We make sure to keep our conversation PG as I drive through my hometown. Patrick's gotten good at picking up on things, he's smart for a little kid. Pulling up to the house, I hear the yelling from inside and groan. This is not going to be a pleasant night.

Patrick's asleep on my shoulder as I walk through the door, and the two idiots in my kitchen have the tact to stop yelling at each other. Darry tries to say something, somehow managing to look elated and exhausted at the same time, but I cut him off. "I'm putting Patrick to bed, I'm hugging my brother, and then we are continuing this conversation outside. I do not care if the whole neighbourhood hears the fallout, Soda's kid won't."

The house is quiet as I place Patrick in Darry's bed. It's the furthest from the front of the house, and god knows we need all the insurance we're going to get. I kiss him on the forehead gently, before closing the door and heading out to the front lawn. Completely unprepared for the shit-storm that awaits me.

* * *

Ponyboy walks out of the house, and thought he looks madder than hell, I think it's only me that notices how tired he looks. I can't help but hate myself for starting in with Steve tonight, knowing that my brother just wanted me to pick him up from the bus stop and then let him sleep in his own bed. He won't be able to go to sleep for a while, with the way the night's going.

I'm hesitant to start the yelling up again, knowing what Pony said is true. We start a fight here on our front lawn, the neighbours will be out to watch the show. That's how it's always been in our neighbourhood.

Even though I'm weary to proceed, Ponyboy decides to take charge. Opting for his calmer approach to my guns blazing one. "You can't go on like this Steve. This isn't healthy and it isn't going to end well."

Steve stays quiet, trying to figure a way out of our ambush.

"C'mon man." Two-bit jumps in. "We just want to help you."

"We know that this is hard for you, but…" Ponyboy starts, but Steve cuts him off.

"You know? You know? No." And then Steve lets out a laugh, a genuine real laugh. "You don't get to say that. Go over there. Watch a guy you've only just met get blown to kingdom come because he wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping. Flirt with some cute vietnamese girls when one of them pulls an AK out of her panties. Pick up a boot after shelling and try to figure out who it was. Have your best friend bleed out all over you. Then you can claim you know. Then you get to tell me you understand. Until then, you don't know shit."

Ponyboy's calm demeanor slips. You can always tell he's mad when he starts to swear. "Fuck you. You're being an asshole."

"Steve, we're begging you to stop this." I try to regain some control, but I see Steve's eyes blaze and I know I've said the wrong thing.

"This is begging? You guys can't beg better than this?" Steve turns to face Ponyboy. "Nah. Begging is using your last breath to get someone to take a letter home. It's not caring that you're dying, only that your baby brother gets the closure."

Steve's words haven't even fully had an effect on me before Ponyboy's fist connects with his face. The two of them are going at it, harder than I've ever seen either of them fight in a rumble. For a minute, Two-bit and I just watch before remembering that we aren't the only ones with a front row seat. I manage to grab Ponyboy's collar and Two-bit ends up dragging Steve across the yard.

My brother shoves me off of him angrily and spits the blood out of his mouth. "You're not the only one who lost someone you dick! Darry and I lost a brother! That little boy in there..." Ponyboy points angrily to the house. "He lost a father! So you can just shut the hell up!" He's already got a split lip, and I'm sure he'll have a black eye tomorrow. Steve's nose is bleeding and a bruise is already forming on his cheek.

Ponyboy realizes that he's still got the car keys in his pocket, and makes a b-line towards the truck. He's turning the ignition before I can stop him. "Where the hell are you going?"

He calls back to me as he backs out. "Away from this shit!"

The truck disappears down the street and I round on Steve. "Happy now?"

He doesn't care though, and is wiping the blood from his nose. Two-bit's not watching either of us, but looking towards the door. "Darry."

His tone sounds really weird for Two-bit, and it's what forces me to turn around. We woke Patrick up. "Shit."

* * *

**The line from Pony's book is a line from The Man In The High Castle by Phillip K Dick. **

**S.E. Hinton owns the outsiders**


	8. Chapter 8

_The park is where all of our bad luck started, at least in my opinion. Everyone else thinks it was the day my parents died, but I know our bad luck began five feet away from me in that fountain. _

_The city tried to get rid of it, the fountain, but for some reason, they never went through with it. Someone managed to get most of the blood of the pavement, but there is one little rust-coloured stain that lingers. _

_I don't know why I came here, I barely even remember running out of the house. All I know is that I took off, and I ended up here. _

_I shouldn't be here, sobbing into my hands. Not when Soda's the one shipping out in a few weeks. God, he looked so scared when Darry told me. Both of them looked terrified when I bolted. I am a horrible person. _

_"Soda said I might find you here." My breath hitches as Steve sits down next to me, and I quickly wipe my eyes. _

_"I know I'm a terrible brother." I spit, "You don't need to come reprimand me." _

_I'm not in the mood to be yelled at by anyone, especially Steve. I don't need him to tell me how shitty Soda already feels, and my moping isn't making it any better. _

_"I wasn't going to. You're not a terrible brother," He fishes into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of smokes and a lighter. I take one, and let him light it, my hands are shaking too hard anyway. _

_Even the long drag I take can't calm me down. "Yeah, I am. I have no right to feel like this. It's just. God, Steve. He doesn't even know where Vietnam is!" _

_"You have every right to feel like this." Steve turns and glares at me. "He's your brother, and he's going to war. You have every right to be upset and angry." Steve pauses, takes a hit on his cigarette, and adds quietly, "He won't be going alone." _

_"Yes, he will. He'll be..." I stop when I see Steve's face and his words sink in. "Steve, what did you do?" _

_"I joined up. We're heading out at the same time." I can't help it when my jaw drops and I stare at him incredulously. He decides he needs to justify why he's walking into a warzone for my brother. "It's just... Since the age of six, he's always been there. Always. He's the only family I've got, and I'm not letting him walk into that alone." _

_I surprise even myself when I throw my arms around Steve and hug him. The surprise grows when Steve starts to hug me back. "I promise I'm going to try and get him home." _

_I pull away from him and wipe my face. The tears have started up again. "You promise me something else. Promise me you're going to try and get yourself home. I'm not losing another brother." _

_Steve nods. "I promise." Then he gets up and looks around. "You tell anyone about this, and I'll kill you." _

_"Likewise." I laugh. _

_"C'mon kid. Your brothers probably want you home." _

* * *

"I just… I don't know what to do anymore." I know I look crazy, talking to a piece of rock. But now it's the only way I can have a "conversation" with my brother. He was always the one I went to if I had a problem.

Soda's probably yelling at us from wherever he is. Wondering, like me, how in the world we let it get this bad. Why didn't we stop Steve? Why didn't we make sure he wasn't shooting up, why didn't we force him to get help? We should've.

Instead, we let him do his thing. We told him he couldn't be at the house high, and then we told him he couldn't be at the house period. But we let him do the heroin and whatever else he decided to shoot into his veins, we didn't really try to stop him.

I'm not mad at him, not anymore. I remember how it felt after Johnny and Dallas died, how I wasn't the same. I didn't want to get out of bed, let alone go to school or track practice. I think it took a good month for things to get back to being semi-normal.

Like me, Steve watched his best friend die. Unlike me, neither Steve nor Soda wanted to be there. They went because they had to. And Steve got to watch Soda die in an ambush, bleeding out under his hands. Steve couldn't go to the funeral, having four months left on his tour.

I'm not mad at him, because I can't imagine what this is like. I can't imagine and I don't want to imagine. What he said hurt, but I know that he's hurting worse than any insult he could throw. I'm just so tired of watching him kill himself.

Running out was stupid, and I decided to get up and walk home. Darry's probably worried, not knowing where I am.

I jump the fence once again and notice that the Two-bit's car is parked across the street. Two-bit's running over to get me, looking extremely panicked.

"How did you guys know I was here?" I jog over to meet him.

"Darry had a hunch." Two-bit gestures to the car, where I see Darry in the front seat holding Patrick on his lap. "C'mon we gotta get to the hospital."

The panicked expression now belongs to me. "What? Why?"

"Steve crashed his car." And that's all the explanation I need before I'm jumping into the backseat, leaving Darry's truck in front of the cemetery.

"Since when are you Steve's emergency contact?" Darry asks me as Two-bit drives.

"What do you mean?" I tell Two-bit to turn up here, it's quicker. "I'm not."

Darry nods. "Yeah, you are. The hospital called the house, asking for you. I had to talk them into giving me information."

I shrug as we pull into the hospital parking lot. For a Friday night, it's not busy at all. Darry goes to sit in the waiting room, deciding to deal with Patrick instead of this. I head up to the front desk and start asking the woman about Steve.

* * *

The doctor comes out twenty minutes later. He looks exhausted and a bruise is forming on his cheek. I have a slight idea of who caused it. "Family of Steve Randle?"

I nod. "Is he ok?"

"He crashed his car into a tree." The doctor checks his clipboard. "He got lucky though. A broken wrist, and maybe a concussion. Our tests show that he was high on PCP and Heroin."

"Jesus Christ." Two-bit mumbles.

"We're keeping him overnight just to monitor him, make sure he doesn't have a concussion." The doctor runs a hand over his face. "He woke up a little while ago but got aggressive. We've restrained him and given him a sedative, but he'll be up in a bit. For this reason, we recommend that someone stay, be there when he wakes up. Preferably the emergency contact."

"Thanks." I shake the doctor's hand.

"He's in room 101." The doctor leaves and I turn to Two-bit and Darry.

"you guys should go home."

"No way." Two-bit's shaking his head. "We're staying."

I sigh. "Go home. You're just gonna be stuck out here on uncomfortable chairs all night. Plus, someone's gotta tell Evie her boyfriend's in the hospital."

"I don't know, Pony." Darry's trying to argue with me, albeit quietly.

I point to the kid, asleep on his shoulder. "Little buddy there deserves to sleep in a bed. So do you for that matter, you've got work in the morning."

They end up leaving, and I make my way to room 101. This is going to be a long night.

* * *

It's an hour before Steve opens his eyes and, when he does, the first words out of my mouth are: "How much of a complete dumbass do you have to be to get into your car, extremely high?"

"Hello to you too. Fuck." Steve groans and I notice he's discovered the restraints. "Why can't I move my hands?"

"You punched a doctor." I run a hand through my hair.

Steve sighs. "Is my car ok?"

"Fuck! Is that all you care about?" The anger that had dissipated comes rushing back in like a wave. "You could've died. Not just from the accident, but an overdose!"

I notice how loud I'm being and how late it is, and lower my voice. "you're going to end up dead, the way this is going. We're not doing this again, Steve. Not me, not Darry, not Two-bit, and most certainly not Patrick. I refuse to go to another fucking funeral."

"Just... Fuck. You made me a promise before you left..."

"Yeah?" Steve looks pissed. "And I broke it, didn't I?"

"Yeah. And you're about to break the second one you made me!" I don't know whether it's the anger or how tired I am, but I can feel hot tears start to prick my face. "I meant it, Steve. I'm not losing another family member. I'm not losing another brother."

I'm expecting to be yelled at, I am talking to Steve afterall. But, instead, his demeanor seems to crumble. "I… Shit. I sat there for an hour. An hour. And then they made me leave him, but I… I told you I'd bring him home."

"Hey, hey." I'm glad we're getting somewhere, but I was not prepared for this openness. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's, Steve."

"I went back, with another company. I went back for him…" He doesn't need to finish because I know what happened next. We got an MIA notice in the mail, but it also came with a letter from the C.O. at the base. Multiple people had seen my brother dead, but he was officially declared missing.

"He should've come home. He was supposed to. He's got a kid. He's got you and Darry. I only had him." Steve's voice shakes.

I'm trying to keep my tone gentle, but also say things Steve needs to hear. "But Soda didn't come home, Steve. You did. You know he wouldn't want this. You know he wouldn't… Darry and I are here for you, ok? You have us. We want to help you. We're trying. But, you've got to help yourself. You need to get help."

And, to my surprise and relief, Steve agrees. "You should go home Ponyboy."

"Nope." I stop, then lean forward in the chair. "Look, if you ever need or want to talk about any of it… I'll be right here. But also, I'm not leaving here tonight "

Steve nods, and grins slightly. "God, you're such a pain."

"Jerk." It feels so normal that I can almost cry. For the first time since Steve stepped of that plane, it feels like he's home.

**Oh my god this is long overdue, and I apologize for that. Thanks to everyone who keep reading, reviewing, and/or favouriting. At this point, it really keeps me going. Thanks so so much for the support**


	9. Chapter 9

**Holy cow! No amount of apologies could ever make this okay, but finally here's another chapter. I'm not sure if I'm going to end this here, because I'm really struggling with this story, or if I'm going to continue (there is a lot of stuff I still want to put in). So yeah... But first, here's the chapter! I am so sorry it took so goddamn long. Thanks for reading! **

* * *

I'm mad that Darry didn't think to buy burgers before today because it means that I'm stuck at the store getting them, before going to pick up Steve. Luckily for me, the store is only minutes away from the hospital.

I'm trying to hurry, lest Steve thinks we've ditched him. I don't remember how much Darry wanted. So I grab the jumbo pack of frozen hamburgers, ready to face the irrational anger that sometimes becomes my brother.

"Hey, ponyboy." Hearing her voice after a year hurts so much. I've spent every minute home desperately trying to avoid seeing her.

"Hey, Annie." When I turn around, I can't help but smile because, god... I've missed her. "It's been a while."

She laughs. "Have you been avoiding me?"

"No." Yes.

"How's Steve doing?" Her tact suddenly changes, and she gets serious. Makes sense she's asking, she witnessed some of that.

"He's..." I don't know if I should tell her, but I do. "He's ok. Actually ok."

"I'm glad." She checks her watch, smiling. "Shoot, I'm going to be late, my shift starts soon. We should hang out again sometime."

"Yeah, definitely." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I inwardly berate myself, it took me almost a year to get over her.

"I wanna see that cute little nephew of yours." She starts to walk away.

"Is that the only reason you want to hang out with me?" My smile is strained, and I'm glad she's not facing me.

"Yup." She calls as she walks through the employees only door.

I head to the cash and quickly buy the burgers. Throwing them in the backseat, I feel like I'm on autopilot. I shake it off before arriving at the hospital, this is a good day and I'm not about to let a tiny inconsequential interaction screw it up.

Steve's waiting for me on the front curb. "What the hell took you so long? I've been waiting out here for twenty minutes."

"Darry made me go get burgers." And I just saw my ex-girlfriend, I want to tell him. (Steve knows the story, at least I think he does, he might not have been sober when I talked to him about it.) Fuck, the guy just got out of rehab. He doesn't care about that, nor should he.

He looks at me like I've grown two heads, "Why?"

"Oh, we're throwing a barbecue. To celebrate."

"Really?" he says, giving me the look. I've grown up under that look. The unamused glare he used to throw my way whenever I'd join Soda and him at whatever dumb thing they were doing.

I put my hands up in surrender, before quickly putting them back on the wheel, "Hey, it wasn't my idea."

He grins, "Two-bit?"

"Two-bit," I confirm, shooting another glance his way. He looks a lot better than the last time I saw him. Maybe that's just because he's out of the hospital.

* * *

_I can't stand hospitals. Not after mom and dad, most certainly not after Johnny. But, I won't be near that part of the hospital. Not even close. _

_The psychiatric ward's dark and grey. There is no other description for it. It's just dark and grey, shadows on the walls and in the eyes of the patients. _

_Steve's sitting at the table in front of me, and I sit down." _

_Darry would've come today but he had to work." I tell him, before taking a good look at his face. He's pale and shaky, looking like he'll keel over in the next few seconds. I can't stop myself. "Jesus Christ, you look like shit." He looks worse than he ever did taking the heroin. _

_He grins ruefully, "Withdrawal's a bitch. Spent last night vomiting, hallucinating, and vomiting. Not to mention I hit a few people." _

_"Shit." It's all I can say. What else could I say? I have no idea about any of this._

_Steve's more intuitive than I thought because he tries to actually smile, "Don't beat yourself up, I don't even know what to say." To me, he sounds a lot like Soda. Even more when he says, "So, hows shorty doin'?" _

* * *

Steve's barely out of the car before my nephew is jumping at him. To be fair, Patrick hasn't seen his uncle Steve in three weeks.

"Hey, kiddo. Miss me?"

Patrick doesn't answer him. Opting instead to bury his face into Steve's shoulder. Darry and I both noticed how much he missed him.

Some people think it bothers me, the fact that Patrick is so attached to Steve, but it really doesn't. Steve is another person who is in this kids corner, another person who loves him unconditionally, and I would never deny him that. Besides, Steve's definitely grown on me.

"You've got the burgers?"

I give Darry a look. Steve just got out of a three-week rehab, and he's asking if I have the burgers? I honestly don't know if he's joking or genuinely curious, but I've got to think it's the second one. I roll my eyes. "Yes, Dar. I've got the burgers. Now, don't be a jackass and say hello to Steve."

It's funny because I'm sure that exact line was delivered to me once upon a time.

Darry rolls his eyes and goes to hug Steve. "Good to have you back."

"Am I chopped liver over here? Come on!" Two-bits running over, clapping Steve on the back.

It's the last little reunion I'm worried about. Evie refused to go see Steve over the three weeks. She had avoided us too, and it sucked when Steve asked about her because we couldn't tell him anything. I wasn't sure if she'd wait for him, and I wouldn't blame her if she didn't. I know he was struggling, but Steve had put that girl through some rough shit. Then Evie showed up today, smiling and excited to see him.

"Steve."

I'm glad he put Patrick down before hugging Darry because I honestly think Steve would've dropped him. I don't think Steve expected to see her at all.

"Hi."

Steve's nervous and it shows. I don't know about Darry and Two-bit, but it's kind of freaking me out. I've seen Steve drunk, high, hungover, and in withdrawal, but I have never seen him like this when it came to a girl. He was always the cocksure son of a bitch who was as slick as the grease he put into his hair. Now he was acting more like fourteen-year-old me, bumbling around the pretty girls.

Evie goes up and hugs him, and he melts into her. You can tell how much Steve loves her without any words being spoken. The way he holds gently holds her close to him, still allowing her the option to pull away at any moment. It's a caring none of us have seen from Steve in a long time.

It's only when he mutters the choked, "I'm sorry," that I realize we're all staring at them. It's impeding on a nice private moment, so I manage to get Darry and Two-bit's attention. We walk away quietly, leaving the two of them to talk.

I know Steve's not just automatically okay now, and I know we aren't ever going to see the old Steve back, but for the first time, I feel like he's standing on solid ground. And no matter what fuck-ups or relapses come his way, we are standing by him.

* * *

Even though today has been the only fun I've had in awhile, I can't believe how uncomfortable I am. How uncomfortable I am around the girl I've been dating since I was sixteen, around the boys I spent my childhood with. I feel almost like a stranger sitting with these people I've known all my life.

Maybe it's because I'm now fully aware of all the shit I've put them through, and know how good they are for standing by me. A girlfriend I stopped respecting and pretty much ignored, two friends I completely took for granted, and one I yelled at until he punched me. But despite the shitty treatment I gave them, they were all here waiting for me and supporting me. I don't deserve any of them.

And maybe it's because life seems to have gone on without me. Because while I was off shooting shit into my veins, Ponyboy was off getting a degree. Two-bit managed to graduate and began to work. Darry finally got the break he was looking for and earned a promotion. Even while I was getting help, Darry's got a new girlfriend, Pony went on a date with a girl he met at school, and Two-bit has started another steady relationship with Kathy. They managed to continue with their lives, while trying to manage the shit storm that was mine.

Finally, maybe it's the fact that everything is foriegn to me. The feel of jeans against my legs is just plain weird, despite the fact that I've been wearing them for all my life. What's a little more concerning is that I'm surprised to see a knife within arms reach. In fact, most of the stuff on the table is stuff I haven't been allowed to touch in the last three weeks… at least, without permission. It's weird to be able to take a sharp thing or a lighter without permission.

"So Steve, you enjoying real food?" Two-bit took a bite of his burger.

"Hell yes." I nodded. After eating crappy hospital food for the last three weeks (with the exception of a burger smuggled in by Ponyboy) the fresh food is heaven. "Who made the casserole? It's good, so it sure as hell wasn't one of y'all."

"That was Caroline's doing."

I'm guessing that this is Darry's new girl. I'm anxious to hear about this. Darry Curtis really hasn't had a girlfriend since highschool and I'm wondering how he managed to get one.

Evie turns to me, smiling. "She's a real sweetheart. Darry told her 'bout the barbecue and she offered to make a whole bunch of food."

I can't believe how much I've missed seeing that smile, and I know it's my fault it hasn't been on her face. I carefully throw my arm around her and pull her a little closer to me. I didn't know if she would wait for me when I got out, but she had and I had promised her I would try and rebuild trust.

"How in the hell did he manage that?" I throw a look towards Ponyboy. "Your brother ain't had a girl since highschool."

"Idiot hit himself with a hammer at work."

I'm not sure how that answers my question, but thankfully Two-bit realizes that. "Darry hit his hand with the hammer and they took him to the hospital. Then he proceeded to fall head over heels for the nurse treating him."

"So she's a nurse."

Ponyboy nods. "Yep."

"She's great," Two-bit adds, "Plus, kiddo here loves her."

I smile looking over at Patrick, who's happily eating a burger. I'm surprised Darry told her about him right off the bat. That's a whole lot of commitment for someone. "How'd she take it?"

Darry comes back over and joins the conversation. "Surprisingly well. I was expecting it to be over after I told her, but she asked me if and when she could meet him."

"Damn Darry. Hold on to her." It's not very often a girl sticks around after finding out you're raising a toddler.

"I'm trying."

* * *

Patrick's sitting on my lap as I talk to Ponyboy on the front porch of the Curtis house. It's late, and I'm exhausted. The full effect of the day is really catching up, and I feel like the mask I threw on is slipping a little bit. I don't know where to go from here and to be honest… I'm scared.

"Uncle Steve."

I ruffle his hair. Right now this toddler is the only person I'm not nervous around. "What's up, little buddy?"

He looks up at me, "Tell me a story?"

"A story, huh?" I bounce my knee a little. "What d'ya want a story 'bout?"

"Daddy."

I feel colour drain from my face, and the only way I know it's actually happened is that Ponyboy looks a little panicked. He reaches over and takes his nephew off my lap.

"Patrick, not tonight." Then he turns to me. "I'm sorry… He's been asking lately and we've been talking about your exploits."

I know by your he means Soda and I's. I have that uneasy feeling in my stomach that comes up whenever I start thinking about him. I had gone the whole night without feeling like I needed a hit, but now the itch to stick a needle in my arm in snaking its way in. I want it because I know a few good shots of heroin and most thoughts of Soda vanish from my mind. Unless they don't, but that's a slim possibility.

Patrick's whine breaks me out of my thoughts. Of course he wants to hear stories about his daddy. That's the only way the poor kid would ever get to know what his daddy was like.

"No, it's ok." I gesture for Ponyboy to give me Patrick again and he places him back into my lap. "A story 'bout your daddy, hmm… I've got a lot of those."

Patrick smiles, and that feeling in my stomach eases some.

"One time, your daddy and I were 'bout twelve and we decided we were gonna go on a drive…"

* * *

Patrick's in bed and it's still just me and Ponyboy on the porch. We're both smoking; not saying anything, just watching the smoke swirl and disappear out into the air. It's a nice night, and I'm enjoying the fresh air.

"That was good of you."

I shrug.

"No, that was good of you." He turns to look at me. "You didn't have to do that. It was good of you. I know it's hard to talk about him."

I shrug again. "It was different… I don't know. It didn't hurt as much talking to him."

It didn't. I didn't really feel upset all that much, either. I did when I started, but watching Patrick smile as I talked completely changed my feeling. His face just lit up and it made me almost smile.

"That's what Darry and I thought too. Dar, and Patrick are the only people I can really talk to about him."

"You can talk to me. If you… ya know.."

He sighs. "I didn't know if..."

"Yeah. I know." What was left of my mask has fallen and I'm willing to let my fears be known. The therapist said it was good to talk; my only problem is the person I would talk to is dead. I run a hand through my hair. "I'm… God… I'm scared I'm going to fuck up."

"Why?"

"I dunno…" I'm not used to being this vulnerable. Not to people other than Sodapop. "I dunno… I just am. I am going to fuck this up."

"Steve… don't take this the wrong way… but of course you're going to fuck up. Everyone does. And yeah, if you fuck up it'll be bad, but it won't be the end of the world. You're trying here, really trying." He gives me a smile. "Don't forget you've got us in your corner. We're here for you, and we trust you."

"You guys… fuck. I put y'all through so much shit." I get up and go to lean against the railing. "Why the hell are y'all still here?"

I still can't wrap my head around it; the fact that these people are still here for me. Some of the things I said and did… I still remember the things I said to Ponyboy before he gave me a well deserved punch in the face. And Darry's been trying to raise Soda's boy all while trying to deal with my bullshit. These bridges should've been burned.

Ponyboy just shakes his head. "You're family. Got it? You. Are. Our. Family. Always have been and always will be. A rough patch isn't going to change that."

"And, I know you can be slow sometimes, but I really don't want to have to repeat myself. So, remember that, will ya?" He's smiling, and I recognize the insult for what it is. Good natured teasing.

I smile too. This feels so normal it hurts. "I never liked you, ya know that?"

"Oh don't worry." Ponyboy shakes his lead, laughing. He squeezes my shoulder. "The feeling was mutual."

"Dick."'

We laugh and talk for a little bit longer. Eventually Two-bit and Darry come out and join us, and the four of us shoot the shit on the front porch. I'm doing the best I can. We all are. And, I guess, that's all anyone can do.


End file.
